Lore:Crafting Motif 8: Orc Style
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I saw Divayth last night, briefly, at the Torchbug. I told him I truly cared for him, but that Morian had won my heart. He clouded over like a storm in the Jeralls, but then took a deep breath and managed a dignified exit. Oh, I do hope he'll be all right.
Though I confess, I'm more worried about Morian. His experiments with Divayth are reaching their climax, when Morian will open a gate and personally make a visit to Oblivion. He says he's going to try for Azura's realm of Moonshadow, as he says that ought to be relatively safe. Safe! I'm as anxious as a scrib on a griddle. I dearly want to see Morian before he goes, but he says he must concentrate on mastering the ritual and can't be interrupted.
He did send a note by Seif-ij saying I should take his place representing the University at the Potentate's state dinner for the new envoy from Orsinium. He must really be busy to skip that event, as I know he was keen to go. Well, all the better for my Racial Motifs project, I suppose—work, work, work will take my mind off my worries!
The new province of Orsinium doesn't have an embassy yet, so for the dinner the Potentate's snake-staff set up a row of pavilions on the grounds of the White-Gold Tower. To honor Envoy Thuggikh they were all decorated with authentic Orcish paraphernalia imported from Wrothgar, so I got out my journal and took notes during the interminable speeches.
Strange to think that a folk as brutish as the Orcs seem to be could design and create objects of such sophistication! Of course they're known across Tamriel as fine armorers, but I'd always assumed that was due to their great strength rather than skill. A glance at their arms and armor was enough to show me how wrong my assumption had been. Though never ornate or over-embellished, their metalwork, though even simpler and more utilitarian than the Nords', displays a deep understanding of the laws of proportion, symmetry, and harmonic congruity. An Orcish sword may be a weapon of violence, but to contemplate the dynamic sweep of its blade, visually balanced by its heavy but shapely hilt, obviously molded to flow into the hand of its wielder—why, it's almost restful and reassuring.
Afterwards at the reception I was happy to see somebody I recognized in Lady Opel the Arch-Magister. She greeted me warmly and, over some West Weald wine and Eidar cheese, asked me how things were going with me and my pair of wizards. I told her I thought I'd made a terrible muddle of things, but she assured me everything would work out in the end. She said she's known Morian for ever so long, and he's really quite sensible beneath his fussy old-man ways. She was glad he'd found someone as clever as I to keep him from completely vanishing into his laboratory.
But as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what he's done. I think I'll go talk to Seif-ij again—maybe he can help me get through to Morian before he leaves.